


i paint my life in red and gold (and the colors of your love)

by silversonata



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Elf Tony - Freeform, Implied Mpreg, Lord Of The Rings AU, M/M, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-09-30 07:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10156859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversonata/pseuds/silversonata
Summary: "I looked into your future, and I saw death."





	1. and when it all falls down, fire in the sky, i'll meet you there

**Author's Note:**

> title: [colours of your love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LK8IBVjOCvE/) by conchita wurst  
> oooook so this is my first official foray into the fandom, i would like to write some more, here's hopin i find prompts that resonate + i didn't do much here, not that i normally do, i'm a snippets kinda gal + i really love arwen's lines and i wanted tony saying a few of them
> 
> the scenes are nonlinear/out of order, hopefully it makes sense, apologies for typos, etc.  
> I totally wasted the opportunity to talk about clean shaven tony + bearded steve + bucky, w o e

Once more in the fair lands of Rivendell, Anthony relinquishes the reins of his bridle, hastily dismounts his horse, Silfren, and hurries, clambers to the balcony.

Strides uneven, brisk, he passes woven tapestries, marble casts, and shards of Narsil, and barrels through the dark wood door of his destination. He arrives in the Hall of Fire in a flourish, his robes, the finest of silk, ivory, and gold, billowing behind him.

Hoarse, his heart frantic, discordant in his chest, he rasps, "Tell me what you have seen."

Nicholas, Lord of Rivendell, steps from the cavern pillar, and queries, dubious, "Anthony?"

"You have the gift of foresight." Anthony gnashes his teeth, pleads, "What did you see, Nicholas?" 

Silently, Nicholas shifts his weight to the hearth, flicks his gaze to the faint, wisps of flame, and says, thinly, "I looked into your future, and I saw death."

"But there is also _life_." Anthony insists, harsh and surly, "You saw," Awash in the memories of his beloveds, of a happiness so vibrant, and visceral, he fumbles, deflates, and heaves, the words a bitter tang on the curl of his tongue, "You _saw_ my son, my daughters."

(Absently, Anthony flattens his palm on the curve of his stomach, defensive, and wary.)

"That future is almost gone now."

Adamant, resolute, every inch of him undefeated, unbroken, Anthony implores, " _It is not lost_."

Nicholas sighs, weary, and turns to his wayward kin, "Nothing is certain."

"Some things are certain." Anthony whispers, breathy, wistful and hopeful, "If I leave them now, I will regret it forever."

* * *

Anthony manages to thread and twine a wreath of Elanor, Niphredil, and Seregon on the crown of James' head - a circlet of rich reds, yellows, and whites - and James startles, snarks, thoroughly scandalized - he much preferred the crown of pipe-weed. And James lurches forward, and topples him, and Anthony shrieks, laughs, and they roll into the bed of meadows down the slope of the hill. 

(By the willow, Steve joins the chorus of laughter, quill, charcoal, and parchment in his lap, a gleam of mirth in his eyes, a smudge of charcoal dust on his nose, chin, and hair.)

Roguish, and wile, James, effortlessly, pins Anthony's hips to the ground, and sprawls above him, Anthony's head in the cradle of his hands, both flesh and blood, and smooth, tempered steel, and he kisses him, roughly, hungrily, without preamble. Anthony moans, scrambles to grip James by the hair, and wrestles his tongue into James' mouth, dribbles of saliva on his chin, and he presses against the cool, moist tangle of James' own. 

Languid, almost sluggish, James rolls his hips into Anthony's, grinds his swollen length - tucked, and constrained in his grassy-stained breeches - along Anthony's legs, to tease, and taste.

Far too brief, and far too soon, James tapers off the ferocity, and presses his lips, soft, and sweet, and relaxed, unhurried, to the slant of his lover's pliant mouth. Satisfied, momentarily, at least, the insatiable man, James slowly pulls away, and Anthony, his cheeks ruddy, his heart an unsteady thrum, licks his lips, and flutters his lashes, unsure of when he first closed them, and -- and he sees his beloveds, James,and Steve, exchange lazy, savory kisses.

(And their hands wander, slip beneath the folds of Anthony's robes, prod and dip in the sleek fabric of his tunic, and their coarse, callused fingers trail the crux of his bare thighs --)

Anthony whines. 

Steve chuckles, heeds his distress, nonetheless, and parts from James, and ducks his head to kiss his Elven love senseless. 

* * *

Thirty-years. 

(Thirty-years they have spent miles, mountains, oceans apart, torn and waylaid by the insufferable wars of Men. Thirty-years of anguish, and grief, of a hollow ache etched deep in their bones.)

They reunite on the hill of Cerin Amroth gracious, and reverent, until Steve succumbs (in mere seconds), and descends upon Anthony, desperate and fierce. Eagerly, readily, Anthony opens up for him, and groans, relishes in the familiar hint of leather, musk, and birch tar, and he curls his fingers in the sharp plates, and links of Steve's armor. 

Prompt, and swift, Steve lifts Anthony, hoists him by his bottom, slings his shapely legs around his waist, and leaves him breathless with wet, filthy kisses. James, a swirl of sweat, smoke, and wintergreen, shirks his armor, and chain-mail, and falls into place, pushes his chest to Anthony's back, and mottles Anthony's shoulder with a string of bruises.

 

*

 

Enclosed by white trees, Anthony lingers by the stream, whispers, "Do you remember what I told you last?" 

"You said," Thoughts adrift in the joyous days of their newfound love, Steve pauses, his fingers, listless, idle, on the straps of his armor, and he, finally, croaks, "You said you would bind yourself to us."

James draws near, adjusts the flap of his tunic into his breeches, and continues, gruff, like gravel sits in his throat, "An' forsake the immortal life of y'er people."

"To that I hold true." Anthony beams towards them, his lively, earthy-brown irises aflame, alight, under the moon, and he smiles, small, and genuine. "I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone." And he presents his pendant, his Evenstar, split into two silver necklaces - a crescent moon, and a blue stone - the moon for James, the stone for Steve. "I choose a mortal life."

Tentative, Anthony looks to them, waits, bates his breath. 

Gently, they pry the pendants from his clasp, and, gentler still, they hold him, unmake him, strip him of every piece, of every facet, of every remnant, of his soul. They melt together, breathe each other in, and make themselves whole again.

* * *

Nicholas brushes his fingertips across Anthony's temple, the sensation, and prickle, of cold, of imminent death, unmistakable, "The life of the Eldar is leaving you." 

Weakly, Anthony nestles his cheek on his pillow, his features gaunt, a sickly gray hue, and he quirks his lips, affirms, "This was my choice."

* * *

" _Ú-ethelithon_."  James.

Anthony stares. " _O man pedich_?" 

" _Edra le men, men na guil edwen, haer o auth a nîr a naeth_." Steve.

Stricken, Anthony seizes, chokes, "Why are you saying this?"

Steve, his beloved sun, caresses his cheek, his touch tender, delicate, "We are mortal - you are elfkind."

His beloved moon, James, however, leans forward, a ghost of a kiss for the corner of his mouth, and, heartless, merciless, he swears, "It was a dream, Anthony. Nothin' more."

Anthony trembles, his throat dry, his words brittle, "I do not believe you."

"These belong to you." Simultaneously, they unfurl, and unfold, their hands, and offer his Evenstar to him. 

Anthony swallows the rush of fury, hurt, and disbelief, bites his tongue to stifle a sob, to stem the flow of warm tears, and argues, " _It was a gift_." 

* * *

And his Rangers return to the rivers of Rivendell in a flurry of limbs, and despair, and Anthony, fully aware, and wise, of the Ring-Bearer's presence, of the dreadful might of the Dark Lord Sauron, and of the grim fate of Middle-Earth, rides to them, and assists. 

(Steve outright protests his involvement, _the Ringwraiths are death_ , and James frowns, a pinch to his brows, a tick to his jaw. It does little to deter Anthony.)

Forthright, he carries the wounded Ring-Bearer on Silfren, and heads to the halls of Rivendell, the Nazgûl relentless in their pursuit. 

He narrowly escapes.

*

*

*

He refuses to speak to them beyond stiff formalities, and lurks, hides in the shadow of Nicholas. 

*

*

They do not stay for long, they cannot afford to - the Fellowship must depart, dispose of the One Ring. 

*

Anthony does not know how to feel about the halves of his Evenstar (proudly, blatantly) displayed on their necks. 

* * *

Anthony glances to the moon, and stars, his heart heavy, "I wish I could have seen them again, one last time." Fevered, exhausted, he dreams.

*

_Settled by the willow, Steve winds an arm around his shoulders, and slides Anthony beside him, and James drops his head in Anthony's lap, and dozes off to the lilt of his voice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tony's evenstar](http://silversonata.tumblr.com/post/158095916981/more-reference/)  
>  Ú-ethelithon: I will not be coming back **for the sake of this fic, it's gonna translate to /we/ will not be coming back  
> O man pedich?: What do you speak of?  
> Edra le men, men na guil edwen, haer o auth a nîr a naeth: You have a chance for another life, away from war, grief, despair  
> also, don't like using "bottom/swollen flesh" but it fit the story?? i guess. it was kind of a struggle to substitute ass/dick/etc. c':  
> technically tony lives but i lost the will to write that bit oop  
> 


	2. open your eyes (and see your heart will guide me)

Barton, rakish, droll, winks, beckons him to the floor.

Never one to decline a challenge, especially one that arises from the drunken stupors, and antics, of his Rangers' formidable men, Anthony springs from the the warm, solid lines of Steve's lap, and heartily, cheekily, indulges the archer.

Boisterous, every bit a rip-roaring drunk, Barton breaks into a jaunty tune, promptly sweeps Anthony into his lean, wiry arms, and twirls him along the grassy knolls. His Rangers' men, warriors of the North, and South, bluster and bellow their appreciation, proceed to wave their mugs of mead, and ale.

Agile, and swift, albeit wobbly, Barton bends and dips him, his hands sure, steady on the curve of Anthony's waist, in the dip of his spine, and he whistles, shrill, sharp, and opens his mouth, waits.

(Suspended, Anthony stares, rightfully bemused.)

Wilson slides in, proffers the expectant Seregon, a radiant, blood stone flower, and Barton clinches the stem between his teeth, and waggles his brows, sly, suggestive.

Anthony snorts, cranes his head into Barton's coarse tunic, intertwines his slender, callused fingers across Barton's nape, and chuckles. Nevertheless, he flutters hazy, starry eyes, Barton's stricken by the motion, slightly wary, and he swoops in, steals the Seregon straight from Barton's slack mouth.

Barton squawks, drops Anthony amidst the thunderous applause.

Cheeks rosy from the exertion, Anthony laughs, wheezes, on the ground, elated, energetic.

Firm, familiar hands graze his bare shoulders, and secure themselves to his hips, a peculiar mixture of balmy, and chilly - the flesh and blood, and tempered steel trademark of his beloved James - and heft, and plaster him to the front of James' burly chest, his legs on either side of his waist. Giddy, almost dazed, Anthony loops his arms around James' neck, and presses wet, clumsy kisses to his stubbly jaw, squirms onto James' pelvis, and the Rangers howl, cheer.

(Barton gags, Wilson shakes his head, and Jones sighs. Dernier, and Dugan, in particular, holler, and Morita quietly laughs into his pint.)

James grunts, flips an obscene hand gesture to the throng, and diligently carries Anthony away from the centerfold. Delighted, and flushed, a simmering heat in the coil of his abdomen, Anthony nestles his chin in the crook of James' shoulder, his nose in the leather jerkin, in the scent of spice, musk, and wintergreen, and he mouths, and teases the hint of skin above James' collar.

James staggers, almost missteps, he, nonetheless, rumbles his favor, the vibrations deep from within his chest, and he slides his palms to Anthony's pert bottom, and squeezes. Anthony moans, bucks into James, and scrambles to pry, and peel, the leather from his beloved --

Unwittingly, the blunt edges of teeth scrape the thin tip of his ear, and breathy, heady, Anthony gasps, arousal searing through him, frenetic and feverish.

(His ears have always been so sensitive - a trait his lovers happily exploit.)

Steve leans forward, a heavy, sturdy presence in the expanse of Anthony's back, and trails deft, dexterous fingers along the ridges of his spine, and hums.

Anthony shivers, anticipates.

Abrupt, and impatient, James snags Steve by his threadbare tunic, reels him in, and holds Anthony tighter between them, their bodies an enclosure of thick muscle, and fiery heat. James angles for a kiss from the love of his youth, to which Steve eagerly acquiesces. Fervent, forthright, Steve crushes his lips to James', leaves him a ruddy bruise, and licks his way into the moist recesses of his mouth, and wrestles with his tongue.

James growls, an unbidden, ferocious plea from his throat, and he grips the golden-wheat of Steve's hair, and forces all that he can manage into one final kiss. And then, spittle on his chin, and a dark glint in his eyes, James swallows Anthony in a kiss, possesses the sweet, plush folds of his mouth until he's a red, slick, swollen mess.

(James tastes of leather, of honeyed mead, of a tang distinctly Steve, and Anthony cries, desperate, needy.)

Brazen, brash, Steve swindles him from James, and Anthony laughs, silly, shaky, his face hidden in the berth of Steve's broad shoulders, as Steve and James hasten to their tent.

* * *

Fraught with palpable tension, Steve frowns, clenches his jaw, and James scowls, draws his shoulders together, seeks the flaps of the tent for a quick retreat.

"My Lord Nicholas," Steve manages, an acrid flex of his tongue, and lapses into silence. James offers no further pleasantries or acknowledgement.

Unblinking, Nicholas disregards their flagrant disrespect, and overt distaste of his character, and says, "I come on behalf of one whom I love. Anthony is dying."

(In tandem, they startle, terror in their hearts, and they find themselves addled, vexed by the admission.)

Nicholas never falters, never wavers, "He will not long survive the evil that now spreads from Mordor. The light of the Evenstar is failing." Steve flinches, the blue stone of the Evenstar a leaden weight on his chest, whilst James seeks the shape of crescent moon of the Evenstar beneath his chain-mail - a cold comfort. "As Sauron's power grows, his strength wanes. Anthony's life is now tied to the fate of the Ring. The Shadow is upon us." A husky finality, "The end has come."

James snaps, "It will not be our end, but his."

"You ride to war, but _not_ to victory." Nicholas dismisses, grim, somber, "Sauron's armies march on Minas Tirith, as you know, but, in secret, he sends another force, which will attack from the river. A fleet of Corsair ships sails from the South. They'll be in the city in two days - you're outnumbered, you need more men."

Resigned, and remorseful, James replies, hoarse, "There are none."

"There are those...who dwell in the mountain."

Stunned, appalled, his features ablaze in fury, Steve lurches towards Nicholas, and intensely, emphatically, detests and denounces the very notion, "Murderers, Traitors! You would call upon them to fight? They believe in nothing. They answer to no one."

"They will answer to the King of Gondor." Nicholas retrieves and proffers the sword of their fate - a long, steel blade, a hilt of metal, and leather, and enchanted by Elven runes. "Andúril, Flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil."

(Astonished, and unsettled, an icy stream of doubts, and fears, in his veins, Steve gapes, looks to James, and James, James focuses entirely on Narsil, engrossed in the past he left behind, in the heritage he shed, shunned.)

Nicholas notes the hesitance, the resistance. "The man who can wield the power of this sword can summon to him an army more deadly than any that walks this earth. Put aside the Ranger." James, skittish, anxious, reaches for the blade. "Become who you were born to be. Take the Dimholt road."

* * *

"The light of the Evenstar does not wax and wane." Luminous, and lustrous, Anthony swivels his gaze to them, his head in the billowy feathers of his pillows, his eyes a misty, murky brown, and he smiles, sweetly, shyly. "It is mine to give to whom I will. Like my heart."

(Steve had cinched Anthony by his chin, softly, gingerly, and kissed the breath from his lungs, and James refused to dress, forbade them both from departing the bed. For a fortnight. Or, so he had attempted.)

 

*

 

Discouraged, devastation written in the crease of his brows, in the lines of his forehead - far too many deaths, far too few victories - Steve collapses on his cot, battle-worn, exhaustion bone-deep. Grime, grease, and blood, both men and Orc, covers every inch of his flesh, flakes in his nails, teeth, and ears.

James keeps first watch, and their Rangers, what's left of them, scatter, their bodies strewn haphazardly on the mossy ground. The Ring-Bearer, and his fellow Hobbits, however, cling to each other, a simple reassurance that they're all still alive.

(Steve easily succumbs to the lull of sleep, and he dreams. He dreams of Rivendell, of newfound love, of memories forgotten.)

 

*

 

"Sleep, my love." Anthony murmurs, cards his fingers through Steve's hair.

"I am asleep." Steve huffs, contrary, and yet, he settles comfortably on Anthony's bed, James dozing beside him, occasionally snuffling into his shoulder, "This _is_ a dream."

"Then it is a nice dream." Anthony kisses his temple, his cheek, his lips. " _Sleep_."

 

*

 

(James dreams, too.)

James strides to the balcony of Anthony's chambers, surveys the valley of Rivendell. " _Minlû pedich nin, i aur hen telitha_."

Anthony sidles beside him, assures, " _Ú i vethed. Nâ i onnad. Boe bedich go Peter. Han bâd lîn_." 

"My path is hidden from me."

" _Si peliannen i vâd na dail lîn. Si boe ú-dhannathach_." Anthony quells. 

Exasperated, James balks, " _Anthony_."

"If you trust nothing else," Delicate, and meticulous, Anthony splays his palm over James' half of the Evenstar - the dainty, silvery, crescent moon - that dangles above his breast. "Trust this." He guides James' hands to the trinket, entwines their fingers, "Trust _us_."

(Trust all the elements of their love. Steve, Anthony, and himself.)

* * *

Lord Nicholas personally summons them to the outskirts of Rivendell - they heed his call.

In the midst of healthy foliage, white willows, and ample shrubbery, Nicholas turns to them, bitter, baleful, hardly the benevolent host that welcomed and greeted them all those years ago. "Our time here is ending, Anthony's time is ending." And Nicholas sighs, beseeches, "Let him go. Let him take the ship into the West." James, unawares, digs his fingers in Steve's tunic, "Let him bear his love for you to the Undying Lands, there it will be ever green."

Indignant, Steve concedes, "But never more than a memory."

Nicholas erupts, _shouts_ , "I will not leave him here to die!"

"He stays because he still has hope." James snarls, unbending, unwilling.

"He stays for you!" Nicholas heaves, breathes fire, "He belongs with his people."

* * *

Resplendent, and regal, James rises, gleams in armor of his royal kin, the crown an unusual fixture on his head, and to the hundreds in the courtyard of Minas Tirith, he echoes, "This day does not belong to one man, but to all. Let us together rebuild this world and may we share in the days of peace." And he sings, the notes rusty, smoky, from the depths of his throat, " _Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta_." 

James greets distant relatives, Kings new, and old, and Steve, officially a knight of his royal guard, stands by his side, and follows.

Lord Nicholas, thereafter, emerges, the Elves of Rivendell treading his path, bearing flags of their insignia, dutiful, faithful.

Steve murmurs, " _Hannon le_." 

Faintly, Nicholas nods, steps aside.

And Anthony, in the finest of threads, in the finest of ivory gowns, unveils his features from the flag's concealment, and he flickers his bleary, brilliant eyes to their staunch figures.

Astounded, amazed, James stares, and stares, a complete loss for words.

Steve chokes, stumbles closer, and clasps Anthony by his cheeks, his thumbs a tender caress on the smooth skin, and he kisses him, greedily, wholeheartedly, loses himself in the love he thought he lost. They resolutely, steadfastly ignore the audience that applauds, clamors, and congratulates their reunion.

Eventually, they part, and Anthony, winded, titillated, smiles, and Steve opens his arms, and James spurns his worries, leaps into their embrace.

(Steve kisses Anthony like he will never forgive him, James kisses Anthony like he will never let him go.)

* * *

Arthur, the dark brown of his hair very much his mother's, the baby blues, and stubborn set of his jaw, very much his father's, wobbles on his feet, and jumps onto his father's back, wooden sword in hand. "I will save you, _Amil_ , _Seler_!"

Aimlessly, Arthur swings his sword, jabs and thrusts the slab into Steve's sides, and Steve swoons, clutches his chest, and crumples onto the floor. Briefly, Arthur checks on his sisters, the babies swathed in linen, and burrowed in the cradle Steven had guarded. (They have their mother's nose, their father's icy grays, their hair dark like their mother, and father.)

Assured of his sisters' safety, Arthur stands on Steve's slain figure, and points his sword at James. "You are no match for me, _Adar_."

James begs for mercy, tries for a bribe, until Steve pinches his leg.

Arthur charges into battle.

Obscured by the sheer canopies of his bed, or the site of his imprisonment, Anthony laughs, so happy, so incredibly alive, as Arthur defeats James, his triumphant monologue interrupted by the resurrection of both Steve and James. Merciless, they swing Arthur in their arms, and when the girls stir, and rouse, the onslaught of fresh cries, they hurry to attend to them,  and to pepper them in kisses. 

(Reflexively, Anthony touches the stretch of his stomach - perhaps, he shall tell them later.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minlû pedich nin, i aur hen telitha=You told us once, this day would come  
> Ú i vethed. Nâ i onnad. Boe bedich go Peter. Han bâd lîn=This is not the end. It is the beginning. You must go with Peter. That is your path  
> Si peliannen i vâd na dail lîn. Si boe ú-dhannathach= It is already laid before your feet, you cannot falter now  
> Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta.=Out of the Great Sea to Middle-Earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.  
> Hannon le=thank you  
> Amil=mother  
> Seler=sister/sisters  
> Adar=father
> 
> so i couldn't not add one more snippet to this, oop. i wanted to add more to tony and the babies but it didn't happen. o well, guess i'll have to work that out for an a/b/o au or something. 
> 
> anyhow, thank you so much for all the kudos!! i really hope it was enjoyable c:  
> OH AND i have used dialogue from the movies!


End file.
